


Spring Cleaning

by Devcon03



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devcon03/pseuds/Devcon03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fresh start doesn't always come easy, and sometimes a spring cleaning is just what you need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Cleaning

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt/trope for Artemis10002000 in LJ. First time writing for the fandom, first time trying to write these characters at all. It's been beta-read, but I've been changing things after that as well, meaning: any mistake found is my bad. Thank you, Redseeker, for helping out.

It starts as a joke.

 

“Hey, Sweden. Why don’t you move in with me again? You could be _my_ wife.”  
  
Berwald doesn’t even waste his breath on a reply, and merely continues reading.  
  
It’s a nice, sunny day. Spring is closing in on them, and Norway is busy with the annual _dugnad_. He’s managed to bully Tino and Iceland into helping him, but Berwald isn’t included. It doesn’t matter, though. Spring cleaning isn’t such a big deal in Sweden anyway. It gets done, and that’s about it.  
  
Denmark wasn’t asked to participate either, and has been casting long glares at the hard working men.  
  
“Does Tino clean out your house every year too?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Denmark tears his gaze from the other Nordics, a beer in his hand, and Berwald stops himself from rolling his eyes. He turns the page and tunes out everything but the story, the soft breeze and the sound of birds singing in the trees.  
  
”I bet you’d love cleaning my house,” Denmark suddenly whispers against his ear. “You've gotten so very... domestic, through the years. I remember how you used to be, you know.”  
  
Berwald's eyes flash before he can control himself, but the Dane takes his glasses hostage and puts them down further away on the table, before coming around to face him. There’s tension between them, and a few unanswered questions as well. Berwald gives him a mocking sneer, refusing to back down.  
  
”See? That’s more like it,” the shorter man says, straddling Berwald’s legs. “Do you remember how it was when you still lived in my house?”  
  
”I was never your wife,” Berwald snaps, and thanks the world for that. It would have been impossible to break free if it had been more between them. He can almost taste Mikkel’s excitement.  
  
”But you could be,” the Dane replies, his lips too close to Berwald’s own. “We’ve been together before, and it wasn’t always bad. Remember the good times? Sure you do,” he continues cheerily, messing Berwald’s hair up.  
  
Does he? Berwald sometimes wonders about that. Things are calmer now, less bloody, but there’s always a tension between them. He prefers Tino’s company to the Dane’s demanding, controlling nature. He looks away, searching for his glasses.  
  
”Berwald, look at me.”  
  
He sighs and gives in, and then the taste of malt pale lager assaults him. He widens his eyes, shocked at this behaviour. His hands come up to push Mikkel away, but the Dane captures his wrists and pin them to his sides. He growls, tenses, ready to break free, but Denmark pulls away, sighing contently.  
  
”You still taste like Valborg,” he says and leaves without another word.  
  
When Berwald tears his eyes from the Dane’s back, he notices he is suckling his lip, as if sampling that long-forgotten taste.  
  
*  
  
Valborg has passed when Berwald finds a small note pinned to his door.  
  
 _Meet me at the park._  
  
He looks around, adjusts his glasses, and steps inside again. He doesn’t take the walk he’d planned either. When Mikkel gets an idea stuck in that stupid head of his, it takes more than just a “no” to stop him anyway. He has history to back him up on that one.  
  
His book draws him back to his comfy chair, and he stretches his long legs, sighing in bliss over another quiet evening. With Valborg over, there’s Midsummer’s Eve to look forward to, and the apple blossom to admire. Life feels good, and the wild strawberries will come and make everything even better.  
  
Soon, however, he finds himself closing his eyes. Sleep is pulling at him, and Berwald turns his head to the side. It’s such a nice afternoon. The windows are open, and the sun kisses his face. He feels lazy, and the buzz of bees fill the air. The book lies on his lap, currently forgotten.  
  
Tino is away, minding his own business. Berwald enjoys the silence, even though he admits to himself that he misses the happy chatter. He smiles and sighs, sinking deeper into the comfy chair. Perhaps a nap is in order...  
  
“You would be so easy to invade,” Denmark says, startling him out of sleep. The Dane is standing with his hands on his hips, looking around, inspecting his home. “You can’t just leave the door open. It’s like an invitation.”  
  
Berwald starts to rise, but Mikkel has other plans, and straddles his thighs again. For the second time in less than two months, he finds himself pinned beneath strong hands. He knows he can fight, and will fight, if Denmark forces him to. He’s been a warrior too, has been just as terrifying. Old days aren’t that far away, and Mikkel knows this too.  
  
 _I once broke away, and I can do it again._  
  
“You are calm for one being pinned down,” Denmark observes, making himself comfortable. He is strong, Mikkel, and with that youthful, wild air about him, one could easily be fooled. Berwald knows better than that.  
  
”What do you want, Mikkel?”  
  
Denmark lifts a hand to take his glasses, then folds hem carefully and puts them away. It’s like a forgotten ritual, and Berwald feels naked under the steady gaze. He allows himself to be groomed, touched like a pet. He frowns, keeps his silence, even as Mikkel’s touch gets more controlling and rough. When the other grips the hair of his neck and angles his head, Berwald has had enough.  
  
”What do you want?”  
  
”Be my wife,” Denmark says, his lips red, so very close.  
  
Berwald is tempted to kick him out of his chair and presses his lips together, refusing to give the Dane what he sorely wants. Mikkel’s breath tickles, and his tongue leaves a wet trail over the shell of Berwald's ear. He shudders, hands curling into fists. He can break the hold, he can, and yet he relaxes into the chair and lets Denmark seal his lips around his neck. He knows what awaits.  
  
He remembers...  
  
Stinging pain, soothed by greedy lips bring him back from the brink of old, maddened darkness. He swallows hard and pulls his head away. His body is responding to an age-old knowledge of belonging, of mutual need and want. He’s torn, not unwilling, far from wanting. It’s hard to think when Mikkel is so close, and the scent of salty sea and grain, of forest and sky, is overwhelming.  
  
“Don’t,” he murmurs.  
  
“Then _pretend_ ,” Mikkel snarls into his ear. “Pretend, for once, that you are mine, and that you never left my house!”  
  
It’s a plea for something impossible, and coming from Denmark, it succeeds to break him soundly apart. There is old pain between them – the sense of betrayal, of being left outside the warmth. Mikkel never knew how to reach out, only knew how to take, in those days. Berwald hadn’t had enough to give, and the balance had shattered, left them unable to move forward.  
  
Reality looks different now. Life is different.

 _Berwald_  is different.  
  
His house still stands, he isn’t alone. He has gained strength enough to withstand Denmark’s might, even in peaceful times. In a way, he already knows what to do, but wonders how much it’ll cost him. Worries about how much it will change. It requires for him to give in, just this time, and pretend that history can be undone, if so, just for a few moments.  
  
To pretend. How hard can it be...?

Mikkel knows him too well. His blue eyes sparkle with pleasure and his lips curl in victory. He leans forward and steals a kiss. Something snaps within Berwald and he breaks free, snarling in defiance. He is strong, very strong, when he has to be. Before Mikkel can see it coming, he has managed to pin the Dane against his broad frame.  
  
”You ask too much, as always.” He inhales slowly, and allows himself to touch what he hasn’t touched for longer than he cares to remember. He kisses back, and the kiss turns ardent, become yet another battle. Mikkel bites his lip hard, drawing blood with a triumphant growl. How easily they fall into old patterns, with Mikkel being too rough and Berwald keeping him at bay. It’s like nothing has changed for centuries.  
  
Not everything was bad, his body tells him. There were good times too.  
  
What follows next – Denmark’s gasp, the tight knot of desire blooming in Sweden’s guts – is just as good as he remembers it. The ancient, throbbing pulse that seems to make them gravitate toward each other grows unbearable. As clothes fall to the floor and heated skin touches, Berwald remembers everything he has buried and locked away.  
  
Too late to stop now.  
  
There’s no going back, not with Mikkel panting against his neck, writhing and clinging. Berwald sighs softly and nods. _Fine_. For one night, he’ll pretend he never fled Denmark, and for an eternity of pleasure, he’ll give in, just this time. He nuzzles the blonde, preparing him for what’s to come. In his arms, Mikkel seems to remember as well, and as they move as one, he laughs that youthful, careless laughter of his.  
  
Berwald grunts. “You can be _my_ wife,” he says thrusting slowly. The Dane’s moans become laboured, and his nails leave marks upon Sweden’s shoulders.  
  
”N-No,” Denmark says between moans. “There’s only _one_ King of Northern Europe... ‘s me. _You_ are the wife.”  
  
He actually rolls his eyes this time. He grabs Mikkel’s shoulders and instead of arguing, he makes sure to remind Denmark why _he_ once upon a time was called The Supreme Ruler of Scandinavia, and why he still is the ruler of his own house.


End file.
